


Bare my skin, count my sins

by Ragga



Series: Steter Week 2k17 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Smut, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Steter Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:29:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: Neither of them could tell when it began but, in the end, they wound up being the only two left who could keep the other afloat.





	Bare my skin, count my sins

**Author's Note:**

> So! Smut. First time. For me, that is. I tried to cop out first but then decided to challenge myself and here we are. How do you rate? _How do you tag_?

Neither of them could tell when it began.

It didn’t start when one of them was a grieving child and the other an adult, burning in his helpless cage.

It didn’t start when one of them was a raging monster and the other trying to keep himself and his family alive.

It didn’t start when one of them rose from the dead and the other was still hardly keeping everyone afloat.

It didn’t start when they both saw the end of whatever could have been (pack, pack, why couldn't they all just have been _pack?)_ in the warehouse between a reluctant beta and a reluctant alpha, both given their new paths against their will.

It had already started when no one cared for the human and no one trusted the wolf.

It had already started when one of them lost the last of his kin and the other realised he would never be family to his again.

It had already started when there was a late night in the 24/7 diner, blank faces and tears that wouldn’t fall, an early graduation and an apartment on the other side of the coast.

In the end, Stiles never took the bite from Peter, but they still wound up being the only two left who could keep the other afloat.

Stiles cuddled Peter close, head resting on his broad shoulders. The lights in the room were dim, just a barely-there reflection from the streets far below them. Sometimes when Stiles looked outside the window he would feel untouchable, invulnerable, all-powerful. They were so high above everyone, the cars and people in the streets mere ants to them. Sometimes he felt like he could just step through the glass and _fly_.

But he would never. He had no wings and the dream to take off to the skies was doomed from the start. It was not the end of his tale though, no. He knew what he looked like, a fragile human compared to what lurked in the night. Yet he had his tricks, tricks and _sparks_ that made him and his wolf famous, that betrayed his fragile front, made him fly even without feathers.

No one knew their names but they all knew them. The human with the golden eyes and the wolf who breathed shadows. The pair that hunted the Codeless and the rogues, all those that would cause intentional harm, for a price and for pleasure. There were rumours the two had ended lines of hunter clans and destroyed packs upon packs, kissed Death and come back stronger, possessing those who would possess.

Only a few of the rumours were true but perhaps that was for the better.

Stiles felt Peter tense minutely next to him and found himself suddenly under him. A smile inched on Stiles’ face. His twenty-five was no longer a strange sight next to Peter’s forties. Not that the bastard looked that; he didn’t look a day older than when Stiles had first met him, insane and handsome and insanely handsome. Unless Peter found a way to immortalise him, Stiles knew he would in a decade or two be the one people saw as the elder. Their lives weren’t certain and danger lurked around every corner, but they were established and they were more than ready to dance.

Stiles raised his head up and captured his lover’s lips, barely a breath away, light as the first rays of the sun, gentle as the goodbyes of its downfall. There was fascination in Peter’s gaze; there was intrigue, desperation, kinship, loyalty and love.

Love.

Stiles still couldn’t believe it. Through the cat and cat game they indulged in they became legends, predators in all but name; in supernatural circles, they were simply known as _Them_. Boogiemen and saviours, all depending on which tales people decided to believe in, which sides they were on.

Another kiss replaced the first, quickly followed by a third and a fourth until they all merged together into one. Peter covered Stiles like a security blanket, keeping him safe and warm against the world surrounding them. Stiles smirked into the kiss.

His humanity had nothing to do with the way he could surge up and twist them around, Peter making a soft sound into Stiles’ mouth as his head hit the pillow. Stiles moved his way down, mouthing at the artfully-shaped goatee, the neck and shoulders that made Stiles weak at the knees, until he met with the chest that was patchily covered in hair.

In the beginning, surprisingly, it was Peter who wanted darkness whenever they had sex, who insisted on having his or Stiles’ back to the other’s front, until Stiles finally – finally – caught him without his shirt on, invading on his privacy. Stiles followed the traces he had then as well, making certain Peter knew there was nothing wrong with having scars.

They were no longer visible, perhaps, but Peter had been alpha for too short of a time for the hair to grow back naturally, to hide the once burnt and now healed skin from the world. If not for how fine the shape of his chest was and the age in his skin, the growth of hair could have been called adolescent. Not even the red eyes he sported now could restore him completely to what once had been.

Stiles cared for none of that.

Kiss after kiss, bite after bite, Stiles made his way down, sucking fading marks that would linger on Peter’s skin akin to whispers, reminding of what had happened even in their invisible form. His hands were spread around Peter’s body, worshiping the curves and taut muscles with each sharp tease Stiles left on his kin.

Stiles found himself following Peter’s treasure trail, avoiding the cock half-mast on Peter’s belly. He glanced up, meeting warm blue tinting on red as pleasure was hazing his lover’s features. Stiles bared his teeth ever so slightly, a gesture he had learned from Peter himself, and licked the shaft downdown _down_. Peter’s head fell back, his back arching slightly. Taking Peter into his mouth, Stiles hollowed his cheeks, and felt a hand press against his head, carding through his hair. The grip was gentle but with the way the fingers curled around his scalp, the tip of Peter’s cock pressing against his throat, Stiles knew it would be over sooner rather than later, this time at least.

Deliver, he would.

It didn’t take long for Peter to grow fully hard under Stiles’ attention. He could taste the precum on his tongue, tangy and bitter, but it was something Stiles had grown used to and even to like. There was meaning to the taste, the feeling it embodied. It meant he was bringing pleasure to his lover, to the only person who mattered to him in this whole world anymore, and that was a heady thing to feel.

He wanted more of that.

His picked up his leisurely pace, sucks becoming harder and harder. His scalp felt like it was burning as his hair kept being tugged, twisted as it was around Peter’s fingers. He could sense Peter was close, nearing the tipping point, but when Stiles went for the kill, he was suddenly pulled off, the pain and pleasure of it intermingling. Peter looked wrecked, hair askew and exhales coming out in little pants, eyes no longer even hinting blue, and Stiles found himself pulled into a soul-devouring kiss. His lips parted and Peter made home inside his mouth, licking up the taste of his own come. Stiles felt their cocks rub against each other as much as they could while their bodies were pressed together.

He was just as hard as Peter, the idea of being able to provide doing more for him than he ever would have thought before- before _Peter_. Sometimes it was hard to imagine a time before they were _them_ and _Them_ , in that order.

Sometimes Stiles felt guilty for being so glad of that.

The other times he knew he was moving on the way his father would have wanted him to.

The hands that had kept Stiles’ head hostage left to wander, taking a hold of his hips. They were resting on the fading bruises already there, shaped like the hands now lingering on top of them, marking the ownership freely given. They had never faded completely, not even once since their relationship had reached into the new heights. Stiles felt the possession on them, adored it even, for he knew he would never be left wanting ever again. He knew Peter felt the same with the ghosts on his skin, the promises left invisible but claiming him all the tighter. They shared a bond now, stronger and deeper than death, and if there was afterlife, Stiles was sure they would never be separated even then.

Either hell or heaven, everything or nothing, they would face it together.

Their hips moved in sync, pushing and pulling, the same as their bond. Because Stiles was always pushing and pushing and _pushing_ to be closer, and Peter was pulling and pulling and _pulling_ him deeper. They were down under, drowning their breaths, _living_. They found solace in each other, against the world that would have – and had, oh, so many times it already had – torn them apart, into pieces that would scatter in the wind, if not for the one little fact their enemies forgot; their puzzles had always been missing a few pieces but, together, they were whole.

And when they let go, it was glorious.

Because the boy who always felt foreign in his skin found love with the wolf who could never find where he belonged. And now, as gold met red, cum splattered on their bellies and chests, eyes gentle and filled with elation they never thought they would have, they were the kings of their world, royalty to all, the nightmares beneath the beds of their enemies and beyond.

They would live forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know your thoughts if you have the time to spare :)


End file.
